


Monday, Monday

by isquinnabel



Category: Lost
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:16:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/pseuds/isquinnabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreariest day of the week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monday, Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Because _I Do_ 's flashback was set in Miami. Title from the song of the same name by The Mamas and the Papas.

For the hundredth time, Juliet questions the wisdom of doing her least favourite job on the dreariest day of the week. Mondays are bad enough without the tedium of grocery shopping to drain the evening away. (She can vaguely remember a time when it was fun, back when she saw it through newlywed-tinted glasses. Years ago. The world’s shortest honeymoon period.)

She shops on autopilot. Bread. Fruit. Vegetables. She’s up to pasta when a high-pitched _riiiiiing_ startles her out of a daze. Halfway through scrambling for her bag, she realizes it’s not her phone. It’s coming from one aisle over. (The ringing cuts off, and it's answered with a flirty _hey, you_.)

Deep breath. At some point in the past few years, she’s come to associate that sound with sinking dread; her phone never rings with good news. ( _It’s taco night_ , says Aisle-Eight, a woman with a giddy-happy smile in her voice.) The bitter aftertaste of her marriage hasn’t yet washed away, and that includes an intense dislike of phone calls. Ed always uses the phone when he’s feeling particularly passive-aggressive.

(A giggle. _Yes, and you’d better like ‘em_.) (She pretends not to feel acidic stings of jealousy.)

She wants to stop thinking like this. After all, this morning’s phone call seemed to signal a change. Good news, for once. A mix of flattering and bewildering. She can’t get the name _Mittelos Bioscience_ out of her head; it circles around like a song lyric. ( _Or no dessert_ , purrs Aisle-Eight.)

But she’s losing her optimism. Or, as she now calls it, naivety. Her future is locked in place, shadowed by Rachel’s cancer and Ed’s continued existence. Not even divorce could detangle her from him.

One unexpected job interview will not change her whole life.

 

( _I love you, too_.) She detours back to Aisle Four. She needs aspirin.


End file.
